It was my birthday yesterday. Louis Catorze’s gifts to me were to knock all the bottles off my bedside table at 5am, and to continue using the cat flap to go out but inexplicably cease using it to come in.

CatFlapGate actually began the previous evening: when I came home, Louis Catorze was yowling outside and clawing at the patio door. “He’s been doing that for ages but, whenever I go to open the door, he runs away,” said Cat Daddy, who had arrived home before me. “I don’t know whether something’s wrong with the cat flap or he’s just being a stupid arse.”

The former isn’t wholly out of the question, especially as the cat flap has started buzzing recently. But, if I were a betting woman, I’d put money on the latter. Cat Daddy, however, didn’t agree. “He wouldn’t keep it up for this long unless something were really wrong,” he insisted. “And look at his face: he looks stressed. I really think we should have a look at the cat flap. Maybe it’s jammed. Or maybe there’s a snake or something stuck in it and Louis is too scared to go through.”

Right.

I gave the cat flap a good clean in case the dirt was putting him off (unlikely, as he happily drinks from cruddy buckets in the garden and rolls around in century-old cobwebs). I wanted to change the batteries but we didn’t have any new ones, so I switched the setting to manual by taking out the old batteries and taping down the latch thing. It made no difference. The little sod continued to shriek like a lunatic outside, rearing up on his hind legs, his eyes saucer-wide with anguish.

Then, when we gave up and went to the living room to watch TV, he came in. Sigh.

What on earth would make him suddenly decide to play this game? It’s not as if any other cats’ behaviour could have influenced him (he doesn’t have any friends). So why, then?

Maybe some of his fan club, two of whom are visiting this weekend, will be able to shed some light on this?